Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
So, Sawyer being proud meant a lot to me. More than he could know.
“I’m really not going to use that app or any app,” I said, still feeling bashful. “But… thank you.”
Sawyer took a sip of his ale and I watched as he tasted it. He was used to sampling my new brews all of the time. I was head brewer here at Jade Brewery, but even before I’d started this job, Sawyer had been my guinea pig when I used to brew small batches of beer at home.
“Delicious,” he said. “This is like springtime in a glass.”
“Best IPA in Colorado?”
He thoughtfully took another sip. “Certainly the best I’ve ever had in Colorado,” he said, flashing his baby blues at me. “At least since the last one you made me try.”
A little hint of a southern drawl came out as he spoke. Those flashes were rare—Sawyer had spent most of his childhood around Denver, but his parents were from a wealthy part of South Carolina, originally. Every now and then, the hint of an accent still shined through, and it charmed me every time.
“Good answer,” I said.
He let out a long breath, running a hand through a curled lock of golden-brown hair. “To be honest, though, I think I’m going to need a stronger drink than a beer tonight, unfortunately.”
“What’s up?”
“I got some bad news today.”
Something inside my stomach dropped when I saw how the look in his eyes had suddenly changed.
There was something wrong.
Sawyer was usually a pure ray of sunshine—the perfect farm boy next door, sweet enough to break through anyone’s walls and make anyone smile. But when I looked at him now, his expression had none of its usual light.
Sawyer was a little too good at acting like everything was fine, when in reality, something was upsetting him.
“What’s going on, Goose?” I asked. “Why didn’t you tell me something was up sooner?”
He looked from me to the oak bar top and back again, as if he was struggling to put words together. The look in his eyes could have crushed my soul. I’d never seen him look like this—a kicked puppy, somehow even sadder because of how naturally cute he was.
A big group of guys at a booth in the corner let out a roar of laughter from across the room. Suddenly every other normal sound filling the brewery felt like too much.
“Harlan, it’s… over,” he said, his eyes locking onto mine. “At the Red Pinecone Farm. I have to find someplace else to work within two weeks.”
I held his gaze. “You’re fucking with me, right?”
“I am not fucking with you. I wish I were,” he said. “Jeff told me I was laid off just an hour ago.” He bit the corner of his lip, shaking his head once.
Heat flashed through my body. Disbelief. And then a whole lot of rage.
“That’s not possible.” I swallowed hard.
“It is,” he said. He gazed down at the bar again. “Never thought I’d end up working on the farm for that long, anyhow. Thought I’d grow out of it in my twenties. But hey, look, I made it all the way into my thirties before having to go find a real job. That’s nice, isn’t it?”
“This really isn’t a joke,” I said plainly. “You really mean it.”
“I do.”
“Because I am going to kill you if you’re messing with me—”
He puffed out a sad little laugh, meeting my eyes again. “I’m not messing with you, Moose. I wish I was.”
It hit me all at once that this really wasn’t some dumb joke. He really meant it.
“Wow,” I said, my voice dropping lower. “You’ve been letting me rattle off about dating apps and pale ales when you were laid off today?”
Sawyer had worked at Red Pinecone Farm as long as I’d known him—and I’d worked right there alongside him on the farm before I started working here at Jade Brewery. We’d been friends since we were three years old, but we’d forged our true, lifelong bond working at the farm together. Even our nicknames for each other, Moose and Goose, were something we’d thought up on a delirious afternoon years ago on the farm, braindead and silly after hours and hours of labor in the sun.
Then I’d swapped tractors for big metal tanks and seeds for beer yeast. Brewing beer was a dream job for me, and I’d made my way to being head brewer here now, but I missed working on the farm with Sawyer more and more with every passing year.
He was my favorite person. He always would be.
“I’ll head down to Red Pinecone tomorrow morning and talk to Jeff,” I offered, a plan already formulating in my mind. “I’m sure he has enough to keep you afloat for at least the next year. He’s always worried about budgets, but there’s always wiggle room.”